


A Little Bit of Hope

by angeoltaire



Category: Carry On - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Angst, Anorexia, Eating Disorders, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mental Health Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-20
Updated: 2017-01-20
Packaged: 2018-09-18 20:17:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9401330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angeoltaire/pseuds/angeoltaire
Summary: “Is it anorexia?” Snow had asked.Thinking back to that day, to the flash of concern across his face at my almost-empty plate, makes the ball of anxiety wound tight in my stomach throb a little. I thought I was telling him the truth, when I'd dismissed his worry; no I didn't eat very regularly, and yes I'd have probably thrown out the food Mother brought me if it weren't for Simon being there, but that'd been something going on for so long that it didn't feel like a problem, just a force of habit. I guess I didn't realise how bad things could get.





	

**Author's Note:**

> As soon as I read the line where Simon asks Baz if he has anorexia, I felt like I just /had/ to write something on that. I've had similar problems with eating disorders myself, and so it was kind of therapeutic to channel that feeling into one of my favourite characters. If you find the topic of eating disorders triggering, please /please/ just click off of this, because nothing good will come of reading it. Much love <3

_Baz_

 

“Is it anorexia?” Snow had asked.

 

Thinking back to that day, to the flash of concern across his face at my almost-empty plate, makes the ball of anxiety wound tight in my stomach throb a little. I thought I was telling him the truth, when I'd dismissed his worry; no I didn't eat very regularly, and yes I'd have probably thrown out the food Mother brought me if it weren't for Simon being there, but that'd been something going on for so long that it didn't feel like a problem, just a force of habit. I guess I didn't realise how bad things could get.

 

It's been months since the thought crossed Snow's mind; I'm just about to leave Watford, top of my class, and Snow's already moved in with Bunce, and it's only a matter of days until I can join them. I should be happy about that. I should be thrilled.

 

Instead I'm pacing. I'm pacing to distract myself from how damn _hungry_ I am. It used to be that I simply couldn't remember the last time I ate; recently I've been counting every damn _second_ that's passed since I last had something to eat. I felt starved.

 

It wasn't that I didn't want to eat. It was that I just... _couldn't._ Over the last few months – the last few _years_ , really – there was always this little voice in the back of my head, telling me I didn't deserve it. I was disgusting and I didn't deserve to eat. The voices had been subtle before – just whispers that were easy enough to ignore – but after that first kiss with Snow, after that little bit more self-resentment had had chance to sink in, they gradually became louder.

 

I hadn't eaten in approximately thirty-six hours. I'd gone down to the catacombs earlier, and fed from three or four rats, but all that satisfied was the bloodlust. The hunger was still there.

 

I had gone down for breakfast this morning with Dev, and I did try to eat. But as I held a slice of toast up to my mouth, prepared to take a bite, my mind flipped. My heart started racing, my head throbbing and my head reeling, and I tried so hard to eat, I really did, but the only thing that dulled the unease was to put the slice of toast back down on my plate and leave the hall.

 

I had a few days left to get away with it; a few days left of avoiding meals in the hall, of just surviving off of blood, of getting little sleep and using absolutely anything as a means of distraction.

 

After that, I'd be living with Snow. I didn't want to think about how I was going to control the voices after that.

 

\-----

 

I'd been living with Snow and Bunce for a week, and things had been going okay. The pair would wake up every morning, go off to their respective jobs, and then come back in the evening and make dinner for the three of us (I'd offered to cook for them, but they're hesitant to trust my cooking capabilities for reasons that I definitely understand). I was nervous at first, as having Snow around during at least two mealtimes now that I actually had a problem meant I didn't really have much room to hide. The first couple of bites of each meal were difficult, but it was easy to get lost in the chatter of Simon and Penny, and for the last week I'd been finishing at least two meals a day. I'd still skip lunch, but that was my own little compromise that just about helped to get me through those other two meals.

 

However, tonight Bunce was in America visiting her boyfriend, and Simon was working a late shift. He'd told me not to worry about dinner, that I should just go ahead and eat and he'd grab something for himself on the way home. There was plenty of food in the cupboards, and leftovers from yesterday's dinner in the fridge, so I wouldn't even have to cook.

 

I wanted to eat, not just for myself, but because I didn't want to risk Snow ever finding out that I had a problem; he'd been doing so well, and had just started having therapy sessions, and he didn't need me causing him any extra worry. I couldn't risk him ever finding out I had a problem.

 

But the little voices in my head were jumping for joy. To be able to skip a meal was the opportunity they'd been begging for non-stop during the last week. They told me that I didn't deserve to eat, didn't deserve to enjoy that kind of luxury – and I had to agree with them. To give in and starve would make me feel physically drained, but it would satiate that need to feel hunger, to feel like I was finally doing something right.

 

Of course I didn't deserve to eat – I barely deserved to _live_ , given my state, and if not eating was the closest I could get to punish myself in some way then I'd have to savour every chance I had.

 

I resigned to the sofa for the evening, surrounding myself with half a dozen menial distractions. I couldn't cave in and mess this up; I needed this.

 

 

_Simon_

 

I arrived home from work just after nine, letting myself in and setting the pizza I'd just purchased down on the kitchen counter on my way through to the living room. It'd been a dreary day, and all I wanted (besides copious amounts of pizza) was Baz. In the last week, I'd discovered he could be the most effective source of comfort; after a shitty day at work, there was nothing that could make me feel as good as being wrapped up in Baz's arms, my face pressed into his neck and his hands smoothing over the back of my neck.

 

I smiled to myself. “Honey, I'm ho-,” I began, cut off as my eyes darted to the ball topped with scruffy black hair curled up on the sofa.

 

I approached Baz hesitantly, my hand outstretched. When I was near enough, I placed my hand gently on Baz's shoulder, wincing when he flinched away. I fell to my knees beside the sofa.

 

“Baz, love, what's wrong?” I asked. He glanced up at me from beneath shaggy, unwashed hair, and for a second I thought he might burst into tears, or lash out; instead he all but threw himself at me, his arms around my shoulders and his head buried in the crook of my neck.

 

I'd never seen Baz in such a state before. He'd always had a cool, careless exterior; to see him in such a vulnerable way triggered alarm bells. Baz hadn't been this way for a long time – not since that night with the fire, and I didn't think kissing the living daylights out of him would solve anything right now.

 

I held onto Baz tightly, hoping me rubbing my hands up and down his back was as comforting as I'd intended it to be. He sobbed quietly, little cries from his throat followed by sniffling. We stayed that way for a while, Baz in my lap, his limbs wrapped limply around my torso, while I tried to soothe him enough for him to calm down and maybe talk to me.

 

When he finally did, he sat beside me on the sofa and avoided eye contact for a long time. He kept alternating between picking at the loose threads hanging from his jeans and biting the skin around his fingernails. I noticed his eyes looked sunken, almost vacant, and he was much paler than usual; as he sat, he slouched as if he had no energy left in him. He wasn't himself.

 

“I have a problem,” he murmured, shaking his head a couple of times as if his body was rejecting the confession. “With food. I c-can't bring myself to eat. I don't deserve it.”

 

“Why would you think that?” I asked, careful not to sound too pushy. I shuffled over and pulled Baz to my chest, combing my hands through his hair as he spoke.

 

“Many reasons,” he sighed, and although he was struggling to talk, I could feel the tension of built-up feelings and heavy secrets slowly leaking out of him with each word. “I'm a vampire – I don't deserve the luxury of eating. I feel like I need to punish myself, for just...being the way I am. And the easiest and sometimes most consequential way of doing that is by not eating.”

 

I thought back to Christmas with Baz's family, when he served himself only a fraction of what everybody else had eaten. I don't think he'd lied to me; maybe he hadn't even known he'd had a problem then. Either way, he was telling me now, and that in itself was a brave step.

 

My respect for Baz telling me didn't mean that hearing all of this didn't break my heart. He looked so lost, so tired, so _sad_. He'd spent Crowley-knows how long _punishing_ himself, for something he'd never been able to help. To think that Baz – _my_ Baz, the Baz I'd spent years loathing and yet now couldn't stop loving – thought of himself so lowly practically tore my heart in two.

 

But I had to be there for him. How I felt didn't matter; I had to help him get better.

 

I tried to choose my words carefully, but I'd never been good with words, let alone saying the right thing in a time like this. “I wish you didn't have to feel that way,” I began. “But I'm gonna help you through this. I'm going to help you see that you really are the most wonderful person on this damn planet. You deserve to eat, you deserve to be happy and safe and loved. You're not a bad person, Baz, and you deserve as good of a life as the rest of us.” I paused for a moment, again scared to say the wrong thing. “Have you eaten at all today, love?”

 

Baz shook his head no, and the look of shame that flickered through his eyes tugged at my heart a little. “Just blood,” he whispered, almost as an afterthought.

 

“You don't have to eat, if you really don't want to,” I reasoned. “How about I make you a cup of tea, while you find something good to watch on the TV? That sound okay to you?”

 

When Baz agreed, I grabbed a couple of the cushions discarded to the floor and propped them up at one end of the sofa, gesturing for Baz to lie back. I flicked the TV on at the plug, and handed the remote over to Baz. Baz smiled appreciatively – only a small smile, the corners of his lips upturning – but he looked more at ease now, a little calmer. I leaned down, pressed a soft kiss to his forehead, and made my way out to the kitchen to make tea.

 

The pizza could wait for now. I had already eaten a couple of slices on the bus ride home, so I wasn't really actually hungry anymore, and right now Baz needed me – and I needed to help Baz as much as Baz needed me to be there for him. I did sneak an extra half teaspoon of sugar and a splash more milk into Baz's tea; I felt bad for it, but I guess I hoped he wouldn't notice, and that the few extra calories may help him feel a little bit better.

 

We spent the rest of the evening cuddled up on the sofa, watching reruns of _Family Guy_ cartoons, because Baz hadn't seen _Family Guy_ before and I figured something light-hearted was probably the best choice for entertainment right now. Baz laid in my lap while I stroked his hair, and occasionally he'd look up at me and tell me that he was sorry, or that he loved me. I'd smile each time, reassure him that I loved him too, and that there wasn't anything for him to be sorry for. He hadn't seemed entirely content with these answers, but settled back down nonetheless.

 

It was at about half past midnight he agreed to eat something. He'd noticed the abandoned pizza on the counter, and reassured me that I didn't need to avoid eating around him for his benefit. I brought the box over, and as I opened it, he asked if he could have a slice, too. Sharing food was not my favourite thing in the world, but Baz could have _all_ of my food for all I cared (Penny had said before that my unwillingness to share food with anybody but Baz was definitely a sign of true love).

 

I held the box out to him and he picked up a slice – the second smallest in the box, I couldn't help but notice – and at first he eyed it wearily, as if it might challenge him to a duel at any second. Then he took a bite. Two slices of pizza later, he didn't look so pale anymore, and while I wasn't completely sure, I was pretty certain his eyes were now filled with something that closely resembled hope.

 

 

_Baz_

 

It's been a month since that night I told Snow everything, and things have only really been getting better since. I know he's been watching me more closely, and sneaking me extra food with hopes I wouldn't notice, but I soon got used to it and didn't really mind. I can handle breakfast and dinner with ease, and can even manage lunch sometimes - and dinner when neither Bunce or Snow are there to make something for me.

 

It's still difficult; the voices are still there most of the time, but I think I have more control over them now, at least sometimes. And even when I have slipped up – when I've skipped a meal or had to stop halfway through one because it had gotten too much – Snow had just held my hand through it. He'd never forced me or belittled me, and I often found myself questioning what I'd done to deserve Simon Snow.

 

He's talked to me a few times about having sessions with his therapist. I've turned them down, of course, but I think he's getting closer to persuading me that it would really be a good idea. I am starting to feel much better in myself, and maybe it'd take a little extra weight off, talking to someone who's professionally trained to handle things like this.

 

I know there will be more slip-ups. And I know there will be times when I have to give in, when I just don't stand a chance of wearing down that little nagging voice in the back of my head. But I also know now that Snow will be right by my side throughout all of it.

 

For the first time in what's felt like forever, I'm starting to feel hopeful again.

 


End file.
